


Dear Diary,

by ohgod



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Ableism, D/s, M/M, Mental Illness, References to father/son incest, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgod/pseuds/ohgod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That is way, way, WAY too close to my whole InuYasha phase.  Do-over!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entry #1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a misreading and mishmashing of [this prompt](http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/350.html?thread=732254#t732254) with several others at the LJ _Pacific Rim_ kink meme.

“It’s oh four hundred hours,” Newt ground out, thumb flicking idly over his recorder.

Well, his other recorder.

There was the big black clunky one, the kind that made him feel like A Real Scientist, like when his dad got him an Easy Bake Oven for his fifth birthday -- but Aunt Stace, she got it, she helped him make a baking soda volcano and then a slug terrarium and then a frog aquarium and then even helped clean it up when he knocked everything over onto _the Persian carpet_ , anyway, right, well, the point is, he never felt more like a scientist, never ever, not even when he blearily clutched his gnarled, prematurely-aged meathooks around his diploma, any of them, announcing that he, _Newton Geiszler_ , was not a total fucking fuck-up, uh,

THE POINT IS, you never feel as much like A Real Scientist as you do when you’re five, getting baking soda up your nose. It’s all funding proposals and lounge politics, from there, fuck it.

...Wait, the actual point was that he also had another recorder, a smaller one, which was kind of like a diary, he guessed? Sure.

He had Raythe’s heart at his elbow (well, probably Raythe’s heart, _somebody’s_ heart), and ze had stopped talking to him, just like that, just like fucking that, and his mind wouldn’t, and so here he was. Alone.

In their lab.

“This place is cramped, man,” He complained to the recorder, who gleamed patiently, “It’s really cramped, and it’s giving me weird ideas. And, uh, I’m going to bed.”


	2. Entries #2 & 3

“Geiszler, I swear -- ”

Hermie (haha, oh, man, Hermie would KILL HIM, if he knew that he just ran the name Hermie, Hermie, Hermie in, like, a Muppet voice in his head whenever he was popping off about what-ever, like, yeah, Kaiju guts on the floor, minor biohazard, get over it, secondhand chalk kills, wait -- )

Hermie was always rumpled but never messy, and today he had this envelope just half-falling out of his jacket’s inside pocket and,

also,

_whoa not cool_  
“Newton, it astounds me that your salary was not the first cut from our grants.”

“I’m a fucking rock star genius, Hermann, I’m the world’s foremost Kaiju expert, like -- ” 

“I’m not calling your intellect into question, Dr. Geiszler. You are indeed brilliant. But brilliance doesn’t matter when it’s coupled to a self-absorbed _child_ without the emotional capacity to entertain that other human beings may too have needs, and these needs may not be to solve their loneliness by talking lovingly to genocidal monsters and then leaving their entrails to be cleaned up by the adults.”

Newt swallowed, shoving his glasses back up his nose: “Takes one to know one, yeah. I mean, the ... the lonely ... child part. That part.”

Did his voice always crack, like that?

Gottlieb’s face tightened. He was like some weird wraith these days, extra crabby, haha, little Hermie crab, peeping out with his eyestalks and snapping a big claw, yeah, but he had lost a lotta weight in the past few months, no more cookies and port and sticks of real butter sneaking through the post, and -- _oh shit_ \--

“Is Vanessa? Hey, wait, no, is Vanessa okay? I mean, not like you deserve her or to get laid ever, _ever_ , it’d be like ... like fucking an unmanned Jaeger, all right? Like fucking cold metal, like your stupid fucking face, but -- is Vanessa okay? Are,” Newt looked at the little white triangle again, “Are you and Vanessa okay?”

Yo, Hermann’s eyes could get really soft, like, like, like Bambi, and

_oh jesus hermie_  
“No.”

Hermann cleared his throat, sharply, “I am startled you have managed to intuit something from a living, breathing human instead of a reptilian carcass, but. No. We are not ‘okay.’ I am signing the divorce papers before the post leaves tomorrow. And. And good night, Newton.”

Click, thump, click, thump, click, thump, pause.

Newt looked to Hermann, from behind his filthy desk, across their filthy floor, and Hermann stiffly opened his mouth, creaked it shut and then snapped out: “I crossed a line. It was, very, unprofessional. My apologies.”

Newt waited until he couldn’t even imagine the _click thump_.

He slammed his tiny recorder onto the desk and shouted at it: “It’d just be fucking easier if he _spanked me_ when he gets into one of these, oh, whoa, wait. Whoa, wait. Okay, I’m going to bed too.”

**click**

“Uh, okay, so I’m in bed, which was like ... not a great idea because now I’m just, like, thinking about getting spanked in bed? Well, like, over his knee, but he’s sitting on the bed, and _jesus_ , okay, I did not sign up to be this hard at like two in the morning, I definitely did not, I am not this hard, fuck.”

Newt spat on his left hand and caught his cock between his fore and middle fingers, jerking it roughly. He was flat on his back, one leg sprawled straight and the other bent so his sole fell flat on the thin mattress (forgot sheets, forgot laundry, fuck it, oh, god, he needed this, he needed this, stop thinking, stop thinking, please, just stop _thinking_ ), knuckles moving frantically under his teal boxer-briefs.

“I, I, I, I mean, I mean, I guess it’s -- I guess the cane is kind of, _nn_ , fuck, obvious, and, _haaah_ , yeah, he could hit me, he could hit me with it too, he could hit me with anything, he could hit me in the face, mm, yeah,” He bit his lower lip, and his cheeks almost were tingling like they’d been slapped, and it was good, it was so fucking good to just

“I want his skin,” Newt panted, hips arching, “I want his skin on my skin, I want to see his skin under all those stupid _hnnungh_ layers, and I want it to be his hand, his weird creepy beautiful oh god fuck no just no FUCK.”

His thighs were shaking, and his cock felt raw.

He whispered, “Please strike beautiful, _please_ ,” and then he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to play with the formatting in a way that didn't pan out (idg HTML).
> 
> Credit to Everybodysdarlin's fic, [Private Room](http://evrybodysdarlin.livejournal.com/6795.html) for the use of "Bambi" as a descriptive word.


	3. Entry #4

“Everything’s getting worse,” Newt mumbled, glumly: “Like, we got pinched again because they didn’t think Eureka Strike would need extra repairs, like, _hello_ , Eureka Strike always needs extra repairs because you’re letting a jock with a hard-on for his daddy pilot it with his daddy, no, this is not just like one my filthy deviant queer things, like, his actual daddy, like, not even my tribe gets that literal -- usually? Jesus, I hope not, anyway, and so, like, Hermann’s right, it’s my turn, and I guess I just won’t get that, er, we’re calling it a pseudo-gill from Biantal, but I had been saving up for it and everything! That puppy’s not gonna stay on the market for much longer, I just know that same fucking creep who keeps snatching up all the good shit, he’s gonna get that one too, and -- ”

Newt was sitting in Hermann’s chair. He flicked the recorder across Hermann’s desk, a few inches: “And Hermie’s been ... I mean, it’s like watching a mean, like, _mean_ old stray get kicked real hard in the face and then pretend, like, whatever, who cares, I only needed one eye anyhow, but now today he -- he got me this sandwich.”

He held it up, so the recorder could understand, that there was a sandwich. A pretty thickly packed egg sandwich, well, a mess worker did that, but, like, there wasn’t exactly consistency, so Herm had picked up one of the better ones, one of the ones that wasn’t squashed, and he had wrapped it up neatly in tinfoil because _of course he would_ , and then he had put it just catty-corner (heh, catticorner? whatever, catty-corner was way more fun) to the huge puddle of drool Across The Line, on Newt’s desk.

And Hermann, like, knew he hated egg salad because who the fuck _liked_ egg salad, it was kinda like eating lukewarm vomit back up, all mushy and, just, eggy, ew, gross, but

there was usually only one kind of sandwich, and

“But then the note!” Newt exploded, waving the sandwich around. Some of the egg salad was squeezed out into the tinfoil with a wet noise. “Yeah, and he left a post-it in his fucking like weird crippled handwriting, oh, shit, that was fucked up, okay, sorry, in his weird cramped handwriting, sorry, man, that wasn’t right, okay, sorry, I’m really sorry, he didn’t hear it, no one heard it,” He was wincing, “Except you, okay, sorry, and it said, here, I’ll read it, it said, ‘Your snoring is a public menace. Please either tuck in your shirttails or resume eating regularly, so that you’re not flapping about the lab like some ghastly,’ and he like struck out ‘neglected hatchling,’ and wrote, ‘flamingo.’ ‘HG.’”

Newt unwrapped the sandwich, which was oozing, and he forced half of it down. “Penance,” He muttered, “For saying ... the thing, urgh, sorry, sorry, sorry. Sorry.”

He chewed with his mouth open, thoughtfully: “He’s like that one dick professor, you know? The one who will never just give you the goddamn A, it’s forever a B plus, just close enough that you spend the whole semester, like, I don’t know, trying to psychoanalyze him and figure out his whole fucking life story and Freud your way into that A. You’re, like, buried in the lab, and he just comes in, and he gets one eyebrow up and one down, and he stands right behind you, like, so, his breath just hits you on the side of your neck or, mm, no, the ear. My ear. His breath on my ear.”

Newt rocked forward on the chair, just so, and he put the sandwich down.

“Okay, this is way more fucked up than the crip -- than the thing I said. Which was really fucked up, I’m sorry! This is way more fucked up, this is way more fucked up,” He pushed his glasses up onto the top of his head, flexing his hips with purpose, with real fucking purpose, the purpose to get off in Hermann’s chair, which smelled like Hermann’s antique-shop-cologne and chalk and his ratty sweaters, “This is so fucked up, okay, right, so he’d lean right behind me, his breath on my ear, and just say -- ”

Newt started as the chair clattered, rocking backward and forward with him. He slid the recorder back in front of him and pressed his face to it, to Hermann’s desk, and he whispered as he tightened his thighs and rode his cock over that weird central bulge that all crappy, uncomfortable chairs had, and _whose idea even was that_?

“He’d say, ‘Mr. Geiszler, it appears you need a hand with that trial. Allow me,’ yeah, fuck, yeah, and he’d just, he’d just snake his hand, oh, and he’d be like white-knuckling the cane with the other one, like, just, and he’d jerk me off, no, _oh god_ , finger m-m-my asshole, magic lube, I don’t care, he’d fucking finger me forever, like, forever, yeah, oh, jesus, fuck, he could _fist_ me, jesusfuck his knuckles would, and he’d drop the cane and choke me, keep me away from the edge of the table, so I couldn’t, couldn’t, do, _Hermann_.”

Panting and shivering, cheeks so flushed they ached, he murmured, after, “And. And maybe he’d call me, call me, like. Or say, say, like, ‘dear boy, my,’ or -- no.”

He had mashed his face into the egg salad sandwich. There was some on his right cuff. To the recorder and his sudden, intense nausea, he whispered, “He wouldn’t say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit? A reference to Slashmyheartandhopetoporn's [Stop (Don't Push the Button)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/895519/chapters/1729371), which would be on my rec list if I made rec lists.


	4. Entry #5

Newt punched the recorder’s red button.

“Okay, so the last, er. Time. Experiment? Test. The last test gave me an idea. And,” He squinted at the lock on his room’s door. He craned his neck, jammed his glasses back on his face and then put them beside the recorder again.

The box under his bed was the nicest thing in the room, a glittery hot pink plastic. Yeah, so, like, whatever, so it was plastic. Not every grad student had Daddy’s credit card or ... a dad, well, like, did, have a dad, but not one that wanted to be ... around. Anymore. Fuck, his birthday was coming up, wasn’t it? 

(His actual birthday, like, the day he was actually born on, not the one he just told people because 

)

Aunt Stace still sent a card, always signed it for Uncle Gunter. Little bit, uh, you know, hoped she was actually coping, not just, you know, hopefully she didn’t think Uncle Gunter actually _signed_ the fucking card, what if Uncle Gunter _was_ actually signing the card, like, the pen just looping above the paper all by itself, weird, Ghostbusters shit.

Maybe he really was twelve.

Not like she could send them anymore, can’t declassify an address for just an aunt.

_Just_ an aunt.

Well, whatever, colors were valuable, right? Like, everybody wore the same olive-puke-beige-whatever it was green, or they wore a tie, why did he fucking wear a tie, oh, right, because Hermann might have a fucking aneurysm if their lab was anything less than professional, like, the badminton matches with Kaiju pores were _professional_ , but a tie or closed collar, super necessary, or else

(his birthday, a week, a week)

“Okay, I actually want to use one of these bad boys, not puke and freak the fuck out, so we’re just gonna do that. Great.”

He unlocked the padlock (8.99$ from Target, when it still existed, and it was a bright purple, to match the box, no glitter, though) and threw open the lid.

He ignored his cocks completely, digging instead for

“Vergil, hell yeah,” He crowed.

He probably could have put the box down more nicely. He probably could have warmed himself up again with, like, one finger. He probably could have used more lube. There was probably an easier position, than squatting on your busted mattress, but

“Could ride him. Oh, god, could ride him. Could ride him for hours, put a pillow under his leg,” Jesus, he had forgot how fucking huge just the head was, just the head, in him, fuck, _in him_ , “A-a-and he’d, he’d grab my hips, bruises, grab them, until I got all the way _oh fuck_ ,” That was the bulge, knot, whatever, there it was, lodged in him, filling him, was this what it would be like, Hermann’s cock, well, wait, hopefully not, because then he’d have a dragon dick ... then again, why not, felt great, Hermann with a great huge dragon cock, Hermann _as a dragon_ , okay, whoa, no, not ready for that one, like, yes, yeah, I can feel you are, but I’m not, cool it, jesus, when was the last time he had fucked himself properly, like, never, like, before the world was ending, fuck.

“Get down, all the way,” Newt was grinding, face sweaty, cock flushed, “Put his hands on my chest. Pinch a nipple, suck one, _nn_ , teeth, teeth, and he’d, he’d look at me, he’d look at me fucking his cock, and he’d, he’d call me, a good boy, his good boy, his, his darling boy, his -- oh, god, I could _haaaah_ I could fucking ride his cock, bounce on it, no one’d ever do it like, fuck, pinch my cock, maybe, maybe it’d be okay, maybe he could, in my, cuh -- pussy, fuck, just his fingers, just two, god, he’d, he’d finally be a color, like, any color, he’d be cherry red, ripe fucking ass cherry red.”

The bed was squealing, squealing, and Newt just wanted just wanted oh,

“He could kiss me, cock and fingers and tongue in me, in _me_ ,” And he rolled onto his face, ass in the air, as he came, cock twitching under his fingers, muffling his sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A SHORT NOTE ON VOCABULARY:
> 
> So, shit's thorny, but I am in no way suggesting anybody should call anyone's genitalia anything until they have checked in with said anyone about what they like their genitalia called, particularly anyones who may have difficulty from society about said genitalia as related to their gender. What Newt almost calls and calls a part of his genitalia is specific to my rendering of this character. Feel free to inbox me if you are seriously confused or concerned.
> 
> Also, meet [Vergil.](http://bad-dragon.com/products/vergil)
> 
> Credit and/or reference, whatever, to Beelove's [Darling](http://archiveofourown.org/works/896644); her Newt informed mine.


	5. Entries # 6, 7, 8 & 9

“Fuck.”

**click**

“I’ve stopped jerking off, okay, are you happy now? Because _fuck_.”

**click**

“Okay, I’m jerking off again.”

**click**

“I really wish I wasn’t.”


	6. click

“Newt,” Hermann said, their bodies touching at the shoulder and the hip.

They sat in a dark corner, yes, but certainly in plain sight. Newt’s leather jacket had been offered and accepted, and it lay crumpled under Hermann’s right knee.

His parka was bunched with it, and together they were a soft, disheveled knot.

Now, their bodies were touching at the shoulder and the hip and the fingers because Hermann had taken Newton -- Newt’s into his own, gently, and he hoped Newt might not notice his palms were clammy or the subtle nervous tremor in his knuckles but knew he would.

Newt, his face flushed and beaded with perspiration, was watching Marshall Hansen, whose mouth was struggling to maintain the delicate balance of grief and joy appropriate for his rank. His entire expression kept twisting to the left.

A drop of sweat tumbled down Newt’s neck. Hermann wished to taste it, against his upper lip.

Newt shuddered. “Sfunny,” He whispered.

“It isn’t funny in the slightest; it is tragic, in the fullest meaning of the word. I’m gratified,” Hermann announced, rolling the R viciously, rolling it in the hopes Newt might roll his eyes or ape it, “I’m gratified that you’re just as terribly frightened as I am. I suppose it is a redundancy, to put words to anything between us now, so long as you remain insistently at the back of my skull -- ”

“No, no. Like. No,” Newton (blast, _Newt_ , it was difficult to remember, but it mattered, it mattered immensely) Newt never sat, never lolled in such a way, never tipped back his head, slack-jawed. Here was a crash, a bad one, and Hermann might have insisted on the hated medication -- but for the way that brilliant porcelain boy had suddenly tightened their grip, pulled it deeper between their thighs.

“See,” Newt lectured on, eyes closed, “I haven’t. I haven’t even begun to process what I saw. Definitely not the things. You haven’t. You know? I. We both need to. Words. We need to words. The drift isn’t, our drift isn’t. I mean, just because you _feel_ something doesn’t mean you know it, want to know it, want to do it.”

“I agree completely,” Hermann replied. His mouth gave a wry tremble, “Which you know, even for all that.”

“Practicin.” Newt slurred, and he turned his head with a very evident contest of will and opened his eyes.

Hermann put their foreheads together, and together, together they had both a row of perfectly healthy human eyes and a row of bruises. 

They breathed, and their mouths brushed as they breathed, but it was not a kiss.

Herman confessed, finally.

“I found your message for me, Newt. Before you devolve into a simpering pile of apologies and self-loathing for your presumptive carelessness, which we _will_ discuss at a later time, allow me. I also found your other recorder, and I listened to it while you ran your errand with the Kaiju goon. I listened to it three or four times total, in fact, and some entries closer to seven. Our drift confirmed it, of course, but it was an immense violation, and I am both sincerely sorry and not sorry in the slightest.”

Hermann felt a violent nausea blossom at the base of their, no, Newt’s throat, and there should only be garlands of kisses or fingermarks there; there should only be his mouth there, and so he pressed forward, with an exasperated sigh: “You are forgiven for as many times as you did ask and will ask and will even think of asking for calling my handwriting ‘crippled.’ You have lived through the accident too, after all, and you will learn to live with a shattered hip. All of us here have said things we do not truly believe under duress.”

“M still probably gonna puke tonight,” Newt pressed their fingers to his chest.

They breathed, a little while more.


	7. a little while more

“Also, I would advise you to work on your habit of speaking _all_ your thoughts.”

Hermann felt his thoughts flow without his direction, a ghostly press warm in his spine. He pursed his lips into a smile, studying the floor intently.

“AW SHIT, you did NOT find out about the -- you did not,” Newt hissed, bloodied eye open.

“I agree I would make a particularly excellent dragon, but my, hm, proportions are nowhere near as -- ”

 

“Those two nearly had me worried,” Herc gestured with his glass, hurriedly licked up the overflow from his hand. Mako laughed, into her drink, at his sheepish expression: “I’m not sure they’re gonna be able to make a Marshall of me. This old.” 

The moonshine sloshed over his knuckles, but he let it drip to the floor, “This old dog probably can’t learn too many new tricks. Or manners.”

 _(“I do not_ want _this, this super-healing,” Dr. Gottlieb’s voice was escalating, thinning into the yelling of an exhausted toddler, “If it would utterly eradicate my joint issues. I have spent_ twelve years, _my_ body _has spent twelve years learning to accommodate to -- ”)_

“Those two,” Tendo sighed, gloomily, “Nearly made me two hundred dollars. Guess it was just the after-drift, maybe they actually felt their feelings there for a minute.”

 _(Newt had grabbed a handful of his own hair, tugging it erratically: “You’re not listening! I know that the_ handwriting of god _or what the fuck EVER turned you into the fucking Avatar, so you just glow blue and -- ”_

 _“What on_ earth _are you talking about, you absolutely infuriating and impossible -- ”_

_“BUT reptilian hips don’t work like ours, so unless you want to drag around your stupid leg -- ”_

_“My darling boy, I -- ”)_

“Uh,” Raleigh coughed, “Not really sure, bout whose winning the argument about ... what’d Dr. Gottlieb’d look like, as a dragon, but I think you just made your two hundred, Tendo.”

Tendo nudged Herc with his elbow and whistled, “I feel like that’s worth a little more than two hundred, you know?”


	8. a lot more than two hundred

“S-so, you heard everything?” Newt asked. Perhaps he had been intending to ask his question in a breathless rasp, but he rushed the delivery, and his voice cracked twice. His soft belly was warm against the small of Hermann’s back, warm and furry like some very small and careful creature.

“Mm,” He replied, cautiously arching. Dear God, Newton’s cock was absolutely perfect. It had been designed that way, of course, and Newto -- Newt had selected it with the most charming excess of enthusiasm,

**”I know it doesn’t look like much,” Newt had the, the ... the implement in one hand and a sandwich in the other; he apparently stashed them, particularly the precious spam ones, in a cooler under his bed, beside the garish box more suitable as a beacon than quiet storage.**

**How dreadful, how absolutely cliche, that now he drifted toward anthropology too.**

**“Woody’s, Woody’s great, though, I mean, he’s designed for, ahm, I guess what, a vagina? What most people call a -- yeah, I can’t even say _lesbians_ , that’s, like, behind the times, like, back in the 70’s, way, way behind, um, but what was my point?” He took a bite of the sandwich, which had been placed in the cooler _unwrapped_ , upon a pile of similarly _unwrapped_ sandwiches.**

**“My sense was that you were going to continue your meandering ode to this dildo, which you have named for some reason I cannot fathom -- and, please, do not tell me, do not think it, if you have named your prick, there must be some territories left uncharted by us -- and then ask me to use it upon you, while murmuring a sleet of degradation and endearments. Your thoughts, so my thoughts, run quite clearly in that direction,” Hermann savored how Newt chewed his sandwich closed-mouthed, bashfully.**

**“Guilty,” The great idiot had a product largely not meat caught between his left incisor and canine, and it was horrible, a travesty, that Hermann might have kissed him anyway. That he might have kissed him for years now, through the anchovy-onion pizzas, through the very brief _vegan_ phase, on the days where he had most certainly not showered and had very likely not even rinsed out his mouth.**

**Hermann had flicked an unamused smile, but the corners of his eyes had been enriched by many tiny wrinkles. “I will not. Instead, you will wash your hands -- you will take a shower, brush your teeth and come back to bed and bugger me with ... your friend, there, until I am satisfied with both of your performances. Am I understood, Doc -- Mr. Geiszler?”**

**“I’LL FLOSS TOO.”**

“Hey,” Newt’s mouth, wet against the bristling hairs at the nape of his neck. Hermann felt the pillow beneath his hips flutter, Newt’s fingers twisting it and plucking at it, trying to process not only the physical and emotional sensation of their --

“Hey, c’mon, you’re doing, like, the sexy equivalent of chasing the rabbit, if the rabbits were running around with huge bouncing boners, which ... they probably are, they’re _rabbits_ , and, um, look, I said, asked, whatever, if you heard everything?”

“If, Mr. Geiszler,” Hermann gasped, as the honorific drew more than a shiver from Newt’s pelvis, drew a proper if shaky thrust

( **”I promise, he’s great, use him on myself all the time,” Newt’s precise fingers, as sophisticated and quicksilver as a surgeon’s, had snagged in a buckle, a strap. They were unpractised here, and Hermann had quickly flooded his mind only with exasperation, exasperation and eagerness, and at least his shame, then, had come from Hermann instead of himself.** )

“Oh,” Newt whispered, burying his face between Hermann’s sharp shoulders.

Oh.

“What was, the, ah, your question again?” Hermann managed, and he purposefully and ruthlessly suppressed what rose unbidden, the last time he had granted someone this immense intimacy.

Newt was grinning, the insufferable adolescent, and he rattled off that _mouth_ like a little monkey (“Well, Dr. Gottlieb, if you could pay attention for more than a Planck -- ”), but Hermann’s throat closed with certainty, the certainty that he either hadn’t, heard everything, or that he would leave the bed and the bedroom and the laboratory and the entire earth, if he had, because 

**”I don’t want to hear the rest of what you have to say for yourself. Get out.”**  
 **“Uh. Actually. I just remembered my. Cousin’s? Birthday party is this Friday.”**  
 **“Because you _never shut up!_ ”**  
 **“Dr. Geiszler, if I heard less about the anatomy of the Kaiju’s seventy-fifth vertebrae and more about how to smash it, I wouldn’t have cut your funding.”**

“Oh, my darling boy,” Hermann murmured.

The silence might have meant that Newt rested his over-developed jaws, but Hermann was tickled by their trembling.

“I heard everything of what you recorded and what, I still suspect, you didn’t realize you had recorded. Moreover,” Taking matters into his own hands, so to speak, Hermann began to rut, wantonly, the way an animal might, in estrus, and it was _glorious_ , to give Newton the filthiest, most obscene part of himself, to be utterly invaded, and to still be entirely in control, to be the one taking care.

“Moreover,” Hermann ground out, and Newt grunted, mouth gaping stupidly, as he finally began to fuck, “Moreover, I know everything. I can, I will, call up how you want me to, to have you polish my, let’s see, _clown shoes_ , with your tongue, then the bottom of my cane, then between each toe, unwashed.”

Newt had absolutely no poise; he had one of Hermann’s hands, tentatively, his other arm wrapped around his stomach. He was riding him like a puppy not grown into his paws. Hermann laughed, mouth a thin streak in his face, “You want me, _I loved_ this one, my dear, you want me to help you piss, you either want my hand around your soft prick, aiming your stream, or you want me to pull apart your bollocks, perhaps get my hands a little dirty, frig you as your urine trickles down my wrist, my fingers -- ”

“Oh,” Impressive, how Newt turned one syllable into a compound word not commonly found outside of the Greek philosophical canon. Hermann’s prick dripped in time to his mewling: “Jesus, Herms. Hermie.”

“I know about that too,” He snapped.

Newt yelped, and Hermann gracefully took more of his weight. His back was strong enough to be a hero’s cradle, now, and how far gone was he, to be thinking such _garbage_?

Newt’s cock worked in him in shorter, quicker jerks, kittenish noises caught in his throat, and Hermann teased the slit of his own prick, breathing damply into the pillow. “Did you, Newt, did you see how I want to finger you, on my lap, before everybody left to us, show them that, _da, da_ , weiter, da, mein Gott, Newton, mein Kleiner, mein -- ”

The next few moments were dizzying confusion, as pure relief flooded every part of his body, and their minds were wiped clean **chalkboards after the end of the world your back Hermann your back is a clean empty chalkboard**

 

“We must needs to words, later,” Hermann said, face mashed pleasantly into Newt’s forehead after a wash-up. Alongside the obscene roiling of sandwiches, he had discovered baking chocolate, and he fed Newt tiny bits from his hand, kissed any sweetbitter smears off his bottom lip.

“Mhm,” Newt mumbled, drooling chocolate onto his chest.

Hermann sighed thinly through his nose, eyes falling onto the tiny recorder. He dry-swallowed whatever mixture of acetaminophen and hydrocodone PPDC favored presently, and he fiddled with the gadget.

**click**

“I believe we have both moved from the realm of hypotheses, and so this set of, hm, trials has ended. Granted, we will likely waver back to our nulls, now and then, but there is always peer-review and -- oh, for the love of -- I think the most improbable parts of you are gorgeous as well, Newt-not-Newton, and I also look forward to sucking on them.”

**click**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like you all deserved the closest I can write to smut.
> 
> Too bad I can't actually fill the prompt given or really write porn, directly?
> 
> I also just set out to fill as many prompts from the kink meme as possible (Hermann POV, Newt "topping," I guess I pre-empted pissplay pretty good ... )
> 
> Meet [Woody](http://www.babeland.com/woody/d/1388_c_129), at any rate.


End file.
